


Moving Pictures

by romanticalgirl



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-05 01:26:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/717279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Come out to LA. It's pilot season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moving Pictures

**Author's Note:**

> Many amazing thanks to [](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/profile)[**inlovewithnight**](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/), my beta and partner in crime. She also did the soundtrack, which you can find [here](http://inlovewithnight.livejournal.com/1545477.html). Written for the [](http://rpf-big-bang.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://rpf-big-bang.livejournal.com/)**rpf_big_bang**.
> 
> Originally posted 10-26-09

“Come out to L.A. It’s pilot season.”

Ioan’s message sits on Matthew’s answer phone for almost a week before Matthew does anything beyond listen. It’s the first he’s heard from Ioan in nearly a month, and he’s embarrassed to admit how many times he’s played the damn thing. He finally calls back, relieved when he gets Ioan’s voice mail.

“Yeah. Flying in on Friday. Send some starlet to pick me up, yeah?” He doesn’t leave a date or time. He’ll do that the day before if he has to, but he has to admit he rather hopes Ioan might actually call and talk to him. He knows it’s passive aggressive bullshit, but it’s easier than admitting that he’s been missing Ioan, that he’s jealous that Ioan’s hitting it off in Hollywood, that he’s lonely in this damned flat by himself.

It’s not that he doesn’t have other mates or plenty of girls he could bring home. It’s just that it’s not the same. He and Ioan had a routine, a sort of sixth sense about who did what and when and where. Even bringing girls home seems wrong when he doesn’t have to avoid Ioan’s too-long legs and knowing smile.

Ioan does call back though it’s when Matthew’s at an audition, doing his best to ride high on the positive reviews from “The Graduate”. He gets halfway through a beer before he actually listens to the message, staring at the blinking red light until he can’t stand it anymore.

“Had Julia Roberts all lined up to get you at the airport, but she said she can’t wait all day for you to just arrive. Perhaps you could be a proper mate and let me and Julia know when you might grace us with your presence?”

Matthew smirks and leans against the wall, taking another sip of his beer as he hits play again. He finally lets the silence settle then picks up the phone, dialing the international number.

“Jesus,” Ioan huffs. “About bloody time, you wanker.”

“Just assumed you were off at some premiere party. Too busy for the likes of me.”

“Don’t be such a tosser.” Ioan’s obviously smiling, his voice giving everything away. Matthew relaxes, carrying the phone over to the sofa and sinking down on it. “Doesn’t take anything as fancy as that for me to ignore you.”

“Ha.” Matthew stretches out. “You just say that to hide the fact that no one invites you.”

“Jealousy is such an ugly thing, Math.” Ioan pauses and Matthew hears him swallow.

“A bit early in the day to be hitting the bottle, isn’t it, mate?”

“Champagne for breakfast,” Ioan informs him with a laugh. “Either that or you drive me to drink.”

“Having seen you behind the wheel, you need someone to drive you.”

“I see you’ve a strong desire to walk from the airport?”

“Probably much safer.”

“I guess I’ll just be going then.” Ioan laughs. “See you when you get here.”

“Right. Right. Right then.” Matthew grabs the paperwork off the table in front of the sofa. “I’m still expecting a sexy starlet.”

“I’ll be sure to dress to show some décolletage.”

“Is that one of your fancy Hollywood words?”

“Far more proper than talking about people’s tits, they tell me.” He takes another drink and Matthew listens to him swallow. “So, go on.”

“You’re writing this down, right? And putting it somewhere you’ll not lose it? Not like every bill I’ve ever trusted you to pay.”

“Now you’re just being insulting.” Ioan’s pouting, but it’s easy to tell it’s faked. “I really can’t wait to see you, Math.”

“A sure sign you should try to actually find friends, you know.” He keeps his voice light, smiling at Ioan’s noise of protest. “Just don’t be late, Gruffudd. I’m not in the mood to dodge Hare Krishna and scientologists at the airport.”

“The scientologists are all famous now, mate. You actually _want_ to hang out with them.”

“If Tom Cruise wants to hand me a copy of Dianetics, he’s welcome to, so long as it comes with a decent script and a nice contract.”

“You’re such a whore.”

“Only for fame. Though if that were completely true, I’d be hanging out with someone other than you. No offense, Ioan, but you’re not exactly A-list.”

“Being naked in bed with Kathleen Turner doesn’t mean you are either.”

“Are you going to start talking about Ridley Scott next or Stephen Fry’s prick?”

“Either way I think I’d come out on top.” Ioan stops for a moment and Matthew can practically feel the blush through the phone lines. “Don’t even say it, Evans.”

“Not saying a word.”

“Quit thinking so bloody loud.” Ioan laughs. “Rather walked right into that one, didn’t I?”

“It’s a skill and a talent, Ioan. Never change.”

Ioan’s quiet for a moment, then sighs. “Suppose I should let you go.”

“Yeah.” It’s not quite an agreement, not quite a question. “Busy day of being famous you’re running late for?”

“Something along those lines. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Unless I wise up.”

“Hasn’t happened yet. What makes you think it’s likely now?”

“Wishful thinking, maybe.”

“You know, given that you’re such an arse, it’s hard to believe you’re home on a Saturday night.” Ioan laughs softly. “I really can't wait to see you, Math.”

“Yeah, well, I'm crashing on your couch. You'll get over that soon enough.”

“Ta,” Ioan laughs.

Matthew waits for him to hang up and sighs softly. “Ta.”

**

The plane ride is excruciating. There's a young mother with two children and no help in sight. One of the children sits next to Matthew the entire time, drooling on what was, when he left his flat that morning, Matthew's best pair of jeans. He lands in La Guardia and heads to the next gate, trying to be as polite as possible as he brushes off yet another apology from the mother. No, really. He's had enough late nights in the pubs to be well-acquainted with vomit. She doesn't seem to want to take it as fine when he realizes that she's got that look.

He's seen it a time or two, more than that if he's honest. It's someone looking at him and seeing something he doesn't see in the mirror. He's not falsely modest – he knows he's not bad to look at most of the time – but he also knows there are far more attractive people than he, and certainly more conventionally attractive without their grandfather's Welsh nose. He smiles at her, honestly flattered, and reassures her again that it's really _fine_ , no _really_ , then he manages to make his escape, hurrying through the airport to catch his connecting flight to Los Angeles.

He misses it, of course, because that's the sort of thing that happens to him. He'd stopped in the bathroom to clean up the vomit and with the time change and the chatting with the woman, he'd lost track of when he was supposed to be at the gate. He phones Ioan to let him know his flight time has changed, and he's subjected to at least five minutes of delighted laughter before he simply snaps his phone closed.

He catches the next flight, trying and failing to sleep thanks to the headphones of the bloke next to him, turned up to eleven and blasting something with throbbing bass and acid guitars. There’s another child behind him, older than the vomiting one, who kicks the back of his chair and, halfway over the country – somewhere about Missouri, they're told by the pilot – there are horrific thunderstorms. He rides out the turbulence with one hand fisted in his lap and the other holding onto the chair arm. They finally divert around the worst of the storm, putting him another hour behind schedule. He can almost hear Ioan laughing now from 35,000 feet.

The rest of the flight is uneventful, which he figures has to be more about the law of averages than anything he's done. Still, it's the roughest landing he's ever had and he's pretty much decided that he's never coming to Los Angeles again.

He manages to make it off the plane in the first wave, and his luggage is already waiting for him, pulled off the carousel and being sat on by Ioan, all long legs and arms and big eyes and quite possibly the best thing Matthew's ever seen.

Not that he can let Ioan know that. “You're wearing that god-awful shirt again.”

Ioan rolls his eyes, not quite managing a smirk. “You gave me this shirt.”

“And I see now that that was a huge mistake, given that you wear it everywhere.” He reaches for his bag, but Ioan blocks him, keeping him from it in a very clear indication that _he_ will be carrying the bag. Matthew has to smile. They always did manage to work together well, one taking over when the other sort of left off. “I'm beginning to wonder if you think Hollywood producers are going to notice every picture of you is in that same shirt and take some sort of pity on you that you can't actually afford any other clothes.”

“Are you saying that's a bad strategy?”

“You're an incredible ponce, Gruffudd.” Matthew smiles and kicks Ioan's foot. “Give us a hug.”

“Not on your life. You smell like vomit.” Ioan wrinkles his nose, still smiling. It's his full smile; the one that crinkles the corners of his eyes and Matthew breathes deeply, then coughs. He really does smell.

“Right. Well, how about you find me somewhere with a shower and a place I can change clothes?”

“I'm not sure I want you in my car smelling like you do. Maybe I can find a police officer to hose you down or something.”

“Ioan. I've been awake for about thirty-six hours and, while I'm delighted so see you, I'm not above knocking you out, taking your car keys, leaving you here and going to your house and taking it over.”

Matthew reaches for his bag, tired enough that he’s not completely sure he’s joking. He hopes like hell Ioan can take a hint, which he apparently can as he tugs the bag out of Matthew’s reach. “Goodness. All you have to do is ask, Math.” He stands up, his ridiculously long fingers curling around the handle of Matthew's suitcase. “Right this way.”

“You're infuriating.”

“And yet you don't seem interested in getting rid of me. Says something more about you than me, I think.” Ioan grins and winks at Matthew, leading the way to the car.

They fall in step together without a thought, Ioan adjusting his long stride to Matthew’s slightly shorter one. “I don't suppose you've got anything for a headache, do you?”

“Don't believe in that stuff out here, 'm afraid. It's either all natural or the hard stuff.” Ioan's still smiling; Matthew can see him out of the corner of his eye.

“I'm sure the hard stuff would get rid of my headache.”

“I promised your mum I wouldn't allow you to get into trouble, Math.”

“That was nearly ten years ago.”

“I've done well so far. I'm not going to be the one telling her that you're hooked on heroin and strung out in the alley.”

“You think heroin will cure my headache, do you?”

“I can't say. And I'm afraid I can't allow you to find out. You'll just have to suffer.”

“I hate to tell you this, mate, but given that I haven't turned to serious drugs and alcohol after putting up with you for ten years, you can rest assured that this isn't going to do the trick.” Matthew claps his hand on Ioan's shoulder, the sharp sting of his touch taking all of it out of his words. “You do have a shower, right?”

“I have a hose out front. You can run through the sprinkler.”

Matthew groans softly. “Tell me again why I subjected myself to all of this to come out here?”

Ioan looks at him, a mild surprise in his eyes as he meets Matthew's. “You missed me.”

Matthew has to smile. “Yeah. Yeah. I did.”

**

Ioan's house, if Matthew is generous enough to call it that, is more like a shack with delusions of grandeur. It ostensibly had a bedroom and a kitchen and a dining room, but as far as Matthew can tell, it’s one big room with some strategically placed hallways. The kitchen has of a nook in it, though nothing resembling a table would fit in it, and the bedroom is barely large enough for a bed, much less anything else.

“Not a word,” Ioan warns him as Matthew looks around. “Trust me, I've heard it time and again from everyone I know and people I don't. So don't think you have anything to say that I haven't already heard.”

“I like it.”

Ioan blinks at him for a long time. “Okay. I haven't heard that one.”

“I mean, obviously, it'd be better with a bit of inflatable furniture, but as far as it goes, it's rather nice. Quaint.”

“Right.” Ioan's brow furrows. “Who are you then, and what have you done with Matthew?”

Matthew laughs. “It's nice, Ioan. Not exactly roomy or showy, but you're here on your own or you're off working. Not as if you're hosting wild parties or anything is it?”

“Well...er, no. Not as such.”

“Are you hosting non-wild parties?”

“Not...no, not parties.” Ioan's still frowning and Matthew sets his bag on the floor at the base of the sofa and tilts his head, glancing at Ioan curiously.

“Are they wild or non-wild events? Brouhahas? Shindigs?” Matthew walks into the kitchen, looking through the cupboards. He knows Ioan like this. He's got something to tell Matthew, and he's a bit embarrassed, so it's better for him not to have to look at Matthew. Also, Matthew's more interested in finding something for his pounding head than in whatever it is that's got Ioan mildly distressed.

“Well, it's just that...there's someone I'm sort of seeing.”

Matthew stops at the cabinet with all the booze in it. That's definitely a good thing to find. Possibly more important than the bit with the headache medicine. He takes out a bottle of whiskey and goes back to the cupboard he remembers had the glasses. They're cheap – Ikea, most likely – but they work, and the etched lines are a good guideline for him to know when to stop pouring. “Good on you, mate.”

“So she comes 'round sometimes.”

“Understandable.” Matthew sips his whiskey, careful not to drink it all down at once, exacerbate the pain pounding in his temples. “Wouldn't be much of 'seeing someone' if you weren't seeing her.”

“There's aspirin on top of the fridge.”

“Thanks.” Matthew glances up at it and then finishes his drink. He blames the headache for the fact that he doesn’t want to think about Ioan and a girl, much less an actual girlfriend. Too much information to process when his head is hurting. “Think I might be able to clean up a bit? I feel probably the most disgusting I ever have.”

“Oh. Yeah. Absolutely.” Ioan blushes and it brightens the sharp curve of his cheekbones. “I'll wash your jeans while you do that.”

“Thanks, mate.” Matthew goes over and grabs his bag, leaving the glass on the counter. He's not sure why this bothers him at all, much less so much.

He and Ioan have had girlfriends before, managed to live together during most of them even. The only thing he can figure, as he strips off his clothes and tosses them in the corner of the bathroom, is that he's here invited and that, having traveled so far and so long, he feels that Ioan should be his exclusively. It's patently ridiculous, as he's here for work, not for a holiday, and even if he were, he certainly never expected Ioan to put his life on hold for him.

He looks at himself in the mirror and blows out a breath. He looks tired. He looks run down. He looks like he's been in the air more hours than he's been on the ground in the past two days and he looks like he needs a good night's sleep, a hot shower and a lot more booze. Not necessarily in that order.

He turns the water on and lets the bathroom fill with steam before stepping under the spray. He groans and rolls his neck at the pounding of the water. He will say this for Ioan, he may not have the fanciest house, but he knows the important things in life.

The shower goes a long way to making Matthew feel human again and opening the curtain to see that his filthy clothes have been taken care of is kind of a surprise. Still, Ioan's always been frighteningly able to read Matthew's mood, so perhaps he realized Matthew wasn't quite himself covered in _someone else's_ vomit. He dries off and dresses in shorts and a t-shirt, poking his head out into the hall and finger-combing his wild mass of hair. “Io?”

“Yeah?” Ioan walks out of the kitchen, a towel tucked into the waistband of his pants like a makeshift apron. “You hungry?”

“Um...sure. We've not got plans tonight, do we?”

“Nope. I thought we'd just watch the latest rugby, since you were somewhere over the ocean or the heart of America when it aired. Can even bet if you want.”

“You've likely already watched it. Do I look that stupid?” He holds up a hand as soon as Ioan's mouth opens. “Shut it.”

“Right-o.” Ioan snaps his mouth shut with a smile and heads back into the kitchen. Matthew gathers his things and then brings his bag back out to the living room, setting it behind the couch this time before going around to collapse on the cushions.

Ioan comes in with a plate of sandwiches and a bowl of crisps. Matthew's stomach rumbles and he realizes he hasn't had much more than a few tiny packages of peanuts for quite some time. “Oh, God. I'm starving.”

“You fail to take care of yourself in the most elementary ways,” Ioan informs him with a hint of grin. “It's a wonder anyone lets you out into the wild.” He sets the food down then heads back into the kitchen. “Beer okay?”

“I think I love you,” Matthew informs him around a huge bite of his sandwich.

“I'm suitably overwhelmed by your culinary affection.” Ioan comes back in with two beers and sits next to Matthew on the couch. He sets one of the beers down, grabs the bowl of crisps and then leans back on the cushions. He props his feet up on the coffee table and settles the bowl on his stomach, digging into it. “If I knew you were as easy as a turkey sandwich...”

“It's really a very good turkey sandwich,” Matthew manages to get the words out without losing any of his bite. He presses his hand to his mouth and swallows. “Really good.”

“I always trust the opinion of a starving man.” Ioan digs through the crisps and crunches one then licks the grease off his fingers. “Go on, eat up.”

“Put on the game.”

“Is my company that horrid already?” Ioan's grinning, so Matthew doesn't take offense, but he does roll his eyes.

“I didn't ask you to shove off, wanker.” Matthew takes another bite and then reaches over, digging his hand into the bowl of crisps. “I'd do _that_ if I was sick of you.”

“Good to know. I'll keep that in mind.” Ioan sets the crisps on the couch and then leans over to grab the remote. He gets the game going and then settles back on the couch, his shoulder against Matthew's. “You want me to tell you who wins?”

Matthew bumps his shoulder against Ioan's, smiling as they fall back into familiar patterns without a bit of hesitation. This could be their flat in London, either of their parents’ houses in Cardiff. This is easy, right. Them. “Shut the fuck up.”

**

Matthew wakes up in the dark, blinking rapidly. His head still hurts, though the pain has dulled to a wicked throb. The TV is off and Ioan's gone, most likely to bed. Matthew is stretched out on the couch with a blanket thrown over him and a pillow under his head. The pillow smells like Ioan's aftershave. No doubt he was too bloody lazy to get Matthew anything fresh from the closet, just shoved a pillow and blanket from his bed onto the couch. Of course, given that Matthew seriously doubts Ioan has more than one set of anything, that's likely all he had.

Ioan's bedroom is dimly lit, so Matthew pads over to the door, glancing inside. Ioan's in bed reading something, his glasses on. “Script?”

“Jesus.” Ioan jumps about three feet off the bed, dropping and spilling the script all over the floor. “Jesus Christ, Math.”

“Well, I'd have warned you, but I'm afraid warning you likely would have scared you just as much.” He moves over and sits on the side of the bed, leaning down to pick up the script. “Something good?”

“Decent.” Ioan shrugs. He and Matthew used to read each others' scripts all the time. Used to know what was best for each other. That was before Hollywood though, before it was about maybe doing something more than surviving in the business, about maybe being more than 'look there's that bloke who's in every other British movie!' In America they talk about what an honor it is to work with the likes of Helen Mirren, of Dame Judy Dench, of Sir Antony Hopkins. In England, while it's an honor, it's also rather unavoidable. It's easier to name a British actor _not_ in a Harry Potter movie than it is to name one actually in them.

Still, just because it's not regular practice anymore doesn't mean Matthew doesn't remember how to suss out what's bothering Ioan. “Go on, shove over.”

“This is my _bed_.”

“Yeah, I'm not trying to steal the covers. I'm trying to read the script. Tell me about it.”

“While you're reading?”

“I'm not looking for nuances, Io.”

“Good, because I don't think there are any.” He moves over and props his pillow more securely against the headboard. Matthew pages through the script, frowning every now and then. It's not great literature. Hell, it's not great anything, but he imagines that Ioan's got bills to pay. He knows he does. In a lot of ways, he's glad he didn't have the first surge of success that Ioan did with Hornblower. Being lauded as the next big thing can't be easy when the thing after the next big thing comes along or, even worse, when the next big thing simply fails to find the right thing to make him big. Ioan's made good choices and bad. They all have. Everyone has movies they'd rather not talk about, movies that paid the rent and nothing more. Still, to go from being a golden boy to being the bottom rung of the Hollywood ladder had to be tough.

“What do you think?” he asks finally, glancing at Ioan.

“I think it's likely crap.” Ioan laughs. “But it's likely crap that will make money, which allows me to maybe at some point do something less likely crap that won't.”

“It's a lot of spandex.”

Ioan laughs again and steals the script back from Matthew. “Yes.”

“They'll give you a codpiece or something, yeah? I mean, you don't want to embarrass yourself.”

“Matthew!” He jabs Matthew hard in the ribs and Matthew laughs, moving with the blow so it doesn't hurt as much as it could.

“I mean, think of your poor parents. They go to see their son on the big screen and there he is, all decked out in spandex, tightly revealing all of his shortcomings, and there's a long shot of your crotch and oh, the embarrassment. They'll have to leave Cardiff. Move to somewhere no one will know their son is built like a very small guinea pig.”

“You...” Ioan warns before he shoves Matthew hard, sending him spilling off the bed. Matthew's laughing too hard to really catch himself, so he makes a rough grunt when he hits the floor. “You've lived with me for over ten years, you fucker. You know perfectly well I'm...” Ioan blushes hard and dark and Matthew just looks up at him and laughs more. Ioan's a bit of a prude sometimes, shy and less comfortable with himself and his body than an actor probably should be. “I do just _fine_ in that department.”

“Of course you do, mate.”

“Besides, how do you know about the sex organs of guinea pigs? Or is that something I should save for the talk show circuit and the National Enquirer.”

“I assure you,” Matthew informs him as he gets back on the bed. “Enquiring minds don't give a right fuck about me.”

“Not yet.” Ioan flips through the script. “It's a summer thing. Could make a lot of money.”

“It could.”

Ioan sighs and frowns at the script, his voice resigned. “I could be humiliated and never face my family or friends again.”

“You've been humiliated plenty of times before, Io,” Matthew laughs, obviously teasing him. “Don't let it stop you now.” Matthew blows out a breath. “This is the kind of thing that could make a career.”

“Or kill it.”

Matthew nods and leans against Ioan's shoulder. “Good thing you're thinking positive, mate.”

Ioan turns his head and grins at him. “Somebody's got to be the realist here.”

“And that's you?” Matthew can't quite keep the incredulity out of his voice. “If that's the case, we're in a hell of a lot more trouble than I thought.”

Ioan laughs and then they lapse into silence, comfortable and familiar. After a moment, Matthew closes his eyes. The bed’s far more comfortable than the couch anyway.

**

Matthew lets himself into the house, tossing his bag aside onto the sofa. He toes off his trainers and walks into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from the refrigerator. He lifts it to his mouth, then realizes he’s not alone, misses his mouth completely and pours half of it down his shirt. “Bloody fucking hell.”

“Oh. God.”

“You're naked.”

“Oh. God.”

“Go on!” Matthew manages to upend and save some of his beer, too shell-shocked by the sight of a naked woman to worry much about the puddle at his feet. “Put some clothes on. My God, woman!”

“Cyndi? Everything all right?” Ioan comes into the kitchen, tugging his boxers up to his hips. “Oh. Hullo there, Math.”

“'Hullo, Math'? That's what I get? Hullo? Are you daft, you stupid...” Matthew breaks off to glare at the girl. “Go and put some clothes on!”

The girl – not a bad looker, Matthew has to admit – shakes her daze off and rushes from the kitchen, hurrying back to the safety of Ioan's bedroom. Ioan watches her go then looks back at Matthew. “You all right?”

“She made me spill alcohol.”

“Ah. Well. I should break up with her then?”

Matthew ignores Ioan's smirk. “You should teach her to put some bloody clothes on before she goes traipsing around your house.” Matthew takes a long swallow of what's left of his beer. “She does know you have company.”

“Well, she certainly does now.” Ioan leans against the doorframe. “She's a looker, hmm?”

“Yes. Quite lovely.” Matthew glares at him. “All of her, including the parts I should _never_ have seen.”

“Yes. I got that bit.” Ioan sighs. “How'd the audition go?” He moves into the kitchen, settling on one of the mismatched chairs beside the table as Matthew tosses a towel onto the spilled beer and swirls it around with his foot. “Good? Bad? Indifferent?”

“You know she's going to do something horrible to your stuff if you don't go in there and console her and pretend she wasn't a foolish bint walking around naked like that.”

“That bad, huh?” Ioan winces and gets up, getting two new beers from the refrigerator and passing one to Matthew. “What was it?”

“Some CSI sort of thing. Decided they're looking for something more Mediterranean.”

“You're an _actor_. Imagine you could swing Greek.”

“And with tits.”

“Ah.”

“Perhaps I could suggest Cyndi for the role. She certainly fulfills that criteria.”

“Yes,” Ioan sighs happily. “She does have very good tits.” He takes a long drink. “I should probably go check on her.”

“Yeah.” Matthew slumps against the counter and kicks half-heartedly at the towel by his foot. “Should call my agent.”

“I'll get rid of her. We'll go out to the local pub, have a few, watch some rugby, yeah? Have a bit of fun?”

“Not too much.” Matthew smiles. “I have a screen test tomorrow.”

“No. Hardly any fun at all. I'll make sure of it.” Ioan smiles back and gets to his feet. “C'mon, Math. I mean, this is an epic day.”

“Yeah?” Matthew raises an eyebrow. “How d'you mean?”

“Well, first naked girl you've ever seen, yeah?”

“Oh, you _didn't_.” Matthew pushes off the counter, launching himself at Ioan. Ioan turns on his heel, well-schooled in exactly the havoc he's just caused, and takes off down the hallway. Matthew tackles him halfway to the bedroom, pinning and straddling him. “You're in for a world of hurt, Gruffudd.”

“Ioan?”

Ioan tilts his head back as Matthew looks up. Cyndi is standing there, thankfully fully dressed. “I'm going to go.”

“Yeah. I mean...” Ioan shoves Matthew off, getting to his feet and tugging up his shorts in what has to be the most awkward set of movements Matthew has ever witnessed. “Let me walk you out.” He kicks at Matthew's leg, but Matthew moves out of the way before it connects.

“Pleasure to meet you, Cyndi.”

She smiles thinly. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Matthew raises his eyebrows, getting up off the floor after Ioan and Cyndi walk past. He waits until he hears the door close then moves to the couch, sprawling on it, pretending not to notice when Ioan walks back in.

“Well, I have to say, you make a stunning first impression.”

Matthew opens his mouth, affronted. “She was the naked one!”

“You were quite rude, apparently.”

“She's your girlfriend, and she was _naked_. What was I supposed to say? Nice tits? Pleased to meet you?”

Ioan’s brow furrows as he thinks. “Other way 'round, I think. Pleased to meet you first.”

“I'll keep that in mind next time I get assaulted by a naked woman in your kitchen.”

“She’d just had sex with me,” Ioan informs him. “She certainly didn't _assault_ you.”

“Surprised then.” Matthew sighs and hooks his foot around Ioan's ankle, tugging him closer. “C'mere.”

“Thought we were going to the pub.”

“Are.” Matthew nods, though he keeps tugging Ioan in toward him. “You like her?”

Ioan frowns slightly and sits down next to Matthew. Matthew closes his eyes and rests his head on Ioan's shoulder. “'m sorry. I'll apologize to her. Don't want to ruin your good thing.”

“You didn't actually do anything wrong.”

“Still. I wasn't exactly nice. I'll put it right.” He glances up at Ioan and smiles. “I miss you, you know.”

“What?” Ioan looks down at him, his frown deepening. “You're being terribly emotional, Math. How much have you had to drink?”

“Not enough for this,” he admits. “But 's still true.” He kisses Ioan's shoulder. “I'll shower then we can go, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ioan is silent until Matthew reaches the bathroom door. “Hey, Math?”

“Yeah?” Matthew turns around, a hint of a smile on his face. Ioan sounds almost confused, but he clears his throat, his voice strong.

“I miss you too.”

**

“'m ver' drunk.”

“Yes,” Matthew agrees for the fifth time. “I'm quite aware.”

“There're four of you.”

“Seven, actually, but we left the other three back at the pub.”

“Shoul' g' back 'n get them.”

“They'll make their way.”

“An' they're bringin' the booze?”

“Think you've had quite enough, mate.”

“Wales _won_.”

“I know, Ioan.” Matthew hooks his arm more securely around Ioan's waist and hoists him out of the taxi. “It was a game from 1987.”

“Still. Could've come out different. Never know with these things.”

“Yes, yes. Suppose it could've.” Matthew pays the driver and steers Ioan up to the house. “Why exactly are _you_ drunk again?”

“Think it was all the ale.”

“You're very bloody clever.” Matthew wrangles the door open and guides Ioan inside. “C'mon, mate. T' bed with you.”

“No. No. 's early.” Ioan loops his arm around Matthew's shoulders.

“For you, maybe. But then, you've got a job, don't you?” Matthew shuts the door behind them, heading toward Ioan's bedroom. “C'mon.”

“You'll find something, Math.”

“Yeah. Maybe. Not a big deal though, you know.” He dumps Ioan on the bed and looks down at him, all splayed out – arms and legs far too long and gangly still, as if he hasn't grown into them during the past ten years.

“'s not?” Ioan frowns up at him. “Why not?”

Matthew shrugs, sitting on the end of the bed and tugging off Ioan's shoes. “Didn't just come out here for that.”

Ioan's brow furrows. “Then what?”

Matthew tosses Ioan's shoes to the floor and sighs, tapping him on the knee. “Came to see you, you daft boy.”

“Yeah?” Ioan smiles, the smile that always destroys Matthew – open and honest and delighted. “I'm glad you're here.”

“Suppose I'm decent comic relief for you between your bouts of being famous and such.”

“I'm not famous, Math. Never will be or have done. Just want to do well, you know?” He turns his head, his dark eyes serious. Matthew gets lost in Ioan's eyes, chocolate dark and a million years deep.

“Yeah, I know the feeling.” Matthew sighs and pats Ioan's knee. “Get some sleep. I'll see you after the thing tomorrow.”

“You'll be ace, mate.”

“From your lips to God's ears,” Matthew laughs.

Ioan grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly. “I mean it, you know. Be lucky to have you, they would.”

“Going to make me blush, Io.” Matthew squeezed his hand back. “Go on. Sleep it off. You'll be embarrassed enough come morning.” He watches Ioan's long lashes settle against his cheeks, dark against the pale drunken flush. He brushes Ioan's hair back and smiles down at him. “G'night, mate.”

**

Matthew expects Hollywood to be more like it is in the movies and on television, all bright lights and movie stars. He wants to walk down the street and see Harrison Ford and Steven Spielberg and the like gathered at coffee shops and making deals in restaurants. Instead there are too many tourists and too much dirt, the floodlights and neon trying to disguise the worn-down promises and cracks in the pavement.

Ioan doesn’t see any of it though. Ioan was born too late, Matthew thinks. He’s a throwback to the days of old Hollywood and glamour, to Carole Lombard and Cary Grant, to David Niven and Myrna Loy. Ioan looks at streetlights shining on spilled beer and urine and sees spotlights on opening night. He breathes it in, exuding what Hollywood _should_ be in his excitement.

Clubs are a dime a dozen and quite a few of the ones they roll by cause Matthew to look twice. He’s certainly no prude – one doesn’t participate in the great tradition of British acting without the propensity to drop trou - but he’s not used to the blatant disregard for privacy, of intimacy. Not to mention the fact that Matthew’s fairly certain a few of the things he sees are highly illegal, possibly unethical and most certainly immoral.

Ioan continues to be oblivious, which makes Matthew think maybe he _is_ being a bit prudish. Of course, Ioan spends so much time in his own head, it’s also quite possible he just doesn’t realize what’s going on around them. Matthew settles on that explanation quickly when they get where they’re going and Ioan gives the car over to the valet, stopping dead as he turns around and nearly runs into a group of people dressed, as near as Matthew can tell, for the circus. They’re nothing compared to some of what Matthew had seen on the drive, but Ioan sidesteps to get out of their way, looking back over his shoulder as they make their way inside.

“D’you think we’re underdressed?”

“If that’s what they’re all wearing inside, I’m fairly certain how we’re dressed is the very least of our problems.” Matthew eyes the queue outside the club dubiously. “Is this _really_ Hollywood?”

Ioan looks at him, obviously surprised, no doubt by the uncertainty of Matthew’s voice. “A piece of it, yeah.”

“Is this where you go out?”

“Not usually. No.” Ioan blushes a bit and shakes his head as the line shuffles forward a few steps. “I thought you wanted to see the scene.”

“I did. I mean, I do, I suppose. I just didn’t know the scene was quite so…”

“Right.” Ioan laughs, and it’s rather a relief to Matthew. He can see Ioan relax, and he does the same. “Really I rarely go out, and if I do, I usually just go to the pub by the house. Drinks are relatively cheap, people dress in proper clothes, and there’s usually rugby or cricket on the telly.”

“So if I were to suggest…”

“That we bugger off and go someplace proper?” Ioan nods and starts back toward the valet. “Sounds ace, mate.”

“Oh, thank God.” Matthew is close on his heels, not once looking back.

**

“Well?” Ioan's sitting on the arm of the couch, feet bare against the cushions, arms wrapped around his knees. “C'mon. Tell us.”

“What do you think of me as a private investigator?”

Ioan blinks a few times then sinks down onto the couch properly. “Really?”

“Well, you could sound a _bit_ more enthusiastic, you know.” Matthew kicks his shoes off and sits on the other end of the couch. “I mean, it's not completely inconceivable, is it?”

“People who aren't American are the bad guys. Not the heroes.”

“Not always. The British are usually spies.”

“You'd be an even worse spy. Is that better?” Ioan sounds dubious, as if he knows the answer. “Maybe you could be a double agent? Spying for the Russians.”

“This isn't 'Cambridge Spies', Ioan. Just a regular bloke. PI with an assistant.”

“An assistant?”

“Yeah. You know, a girl Friday. Sassy vixen with a heart of gold, completely unaware of her sexual being.”

“Then you hire her and she falls in love with you?”

“Well, not right away.” Ioan bites his lower lip, barely managing not to laugh. Matthew narrows his eyes, glaring at him. “What's so bloody funny?”

“It's just...and you...” Ioan stops fighting it and laughs out loud. “I mean, you're not exactly Sam Spade, are you?”

“I could be.”

“Hell, you're not even Columbo.”

“Thank you,” Matthew bites out, words brittle and stiff. “You're support and encouragement are over-fucking-whelming. Careful how you lay on the sodding praise, Mr. _Fantastic_.”

“Oi, Math!” Ioan watches as Matthew gets up off the couch, stalking into the kitchen. Matthew can hear Ioan following close behind and, when Matthew glances at Ioan from the corner of his eye, Ioan's expression is rueful. “No need to get tetchy.”

“You _insulted_ me.” Matthew's voice is thick with incredulity. “How else should I respond to that exactly?”

“Have a bit of a sense of humor, maybe.” Ioan raises an eyebrow knowingly. “I mean, I'm to play Mr. Bloody Fantastic, the stretchy bloke who, despite being a certified genius, is apparently a stupid git. Don't think I don't know that makes me the butt of more than a few jokes.”

“Yes, but girls will come up to you and ask you to prove that you're fantastic.”

“Which, according to my last few girlfriends, I'm not.”

“Whereas they'll see me in my trench coat and assume I'm going to flash them.”

Ioan bites his lower lip again. “Maybe chat with the costuming folks about that bit?”

“The trench coat or the flashing?” Matthew laughs softly then hoists himself up on the counter. “It was either the PI or some sort of angel.”

“I can't...” Ioan swallows his laugh and shakes his head. “I can't even go there. Really.”

Matthew picks at the knee of his jeans. “You know, you do this Fantastic thing, they'll make you an action figure.”

“Did you miss the bit about me being all stretchy?” Ioan smirks. “Probably be made of Silly Putty and children around the world will roll me up and shove me in a plastic egg.”

“There are worse fates.” Matthew reaches out, catching one of the thick curls that falls over Ioan's forehead.

“Name one.”

“Could just be forgotten. A has been. A never was.”

“That won't be us. Won't be you.” Ioan reaches up for Matthew's hand, tangling their fingers together. “And even if it were – we're not doing it for the accolades, right?”

“Not _just_ for the accolades.” Matthew moves his leg, drawing Ioan between his thighs. “But I must admit the accolades are nice.”

“Promise I'll stay your number one fan,” Ioan assures him.

Matthew nods, watching Ioan carefully. They're close together, bodies pressed tight, Ioan's hips against the inside of Matthew's thighs. “My only fan.” He doesn't mean for it to come out like it does, to linger in the air between them.

“Math?” Ioan's voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes gone wide.

Matthew bites his lower lip, his eyes dropping down to Ioan's mouth. Ioan's tongue darts out, leaving his lips wet and barely parted. This isn't entirely new – they'd gotten drunk one night and debated sexual politics until Ioan had shut him up with a kiss and that had started…something. They’ve had moments, kissing and more, that just happened, but it’s never been like this. This is different. This _feels_ different.

Chest tight, breath caught in his lungs, Matthew swallows and dips his head. Ioan doesn't move and their lips barely brush.

“What was that?” Ioan breathes.

“Dunno. A kiss.” Matthew swallows again, hard to force it down past the air in his chest and his heart in his throat. “Maybe.”

“Wasn't a kiss,” Ioan informs him, pressing closer. “Kiss is more...” He stops and brushes Matthew's lips this time, a hint of his tongue skating over Matthew's lower lip.

“More what?” It's another whisper as Matthew curves his legs around the back of Ioan's thighs, holding him there.

“Like this.” Ioan breaths, mouth finding Matthew's surely this time, moving with and against it. Matthew parts his lips to the slide of Ioan's tongue, his legs tightening further as his hands move up to Ioan's neck, settling on either side of it before moving up to the dark tangle of Ioan's hair.

Ioan moans softly, hungrily. His body arches toward Matthew as his fingers scrape at Matthew's thighs before catching in his belt loops. Matthew gasps, breathing in the instant before the next kiss.

Ioan pulls back eventually, his face flushed. Matthew can’t help but reach out, brushing the tips of his fingers over Ioan’s cheek. “What was that?” he asks softly.

Ioan shrugs, his lips curving into a slight smile. “Dunno. Just seemed like the right thing to do.”

“Your girlfriend might beg to differ.”

“Never stopped us before.” Ioan’s mouth is crooked in a hint of a smile.

“That’s not exactly true. We never found ourselves doing this when there was a girl in the picture.” Matthew suspects he should stop, that by stroking Ioan’s lip with his thumb he’s rather undermining his own argument.

“What about when you dated Maureen?”

“That wasn’t really dating so much as desperate, drunken fondling.”

“For six months?”

“I was _very_ drunk.”

Ioan gives him a full-fledged smile and shakes his head. “For six months?”

“Yes.”

The smile transforms into a soft laugh. “You weren’t _that_ drunk.”

“Actually I was.” Matthew laughs, tightening his legs around Ioan in what is apparently a further effort to contradict himself. “Plus, she was amazingly good in bed.”

“So why did you spend half your time snogging me?”

“Because good in bed was about all she was.” Matthew shakes his head. “You like this girl?”

“Well enough, I suppose.”

“Then we really shouldn’t.” Matthew loosens his hold on Ioan, his expression no doubt slightly wistful as Ioan steps back. Something aches inside him and he claps his hands together before rubbing his thighs, erasing the feeling of Ioan before he can miss it. “So, what’s on our agenda? You going to show me around this town or what?”

Ioan watches him for a long moment before finally answering. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

**

The show is shit. 

Matthew’s aware of that long before they actually get around to filming the pilot. The script gets rewritten four times in a week, and every draft gets worse and worse. He’s gone from sounding like an educated, street-wise bloke to an idiot who can’t tell his arse from a hole in the ground. It wouldn’t be so bad if his sidekick was getting wittier or wiser, but instead they’re both being dragged into a morass of awful, and no one’s going to believe they can solve any kind of mystery. As it is, the audience is going to be hard pressed to believe they can figure out how to get out of bed in the morning.

“It’s really bad.” His co-star, a lovely young thing who’s just as likely to go far in this business as he is to go back to London in a heartbeat, makes a face at the putrid green script. “I mean, there’s a good chance that this redefines bad. It makes bad look bad.”

Matthew laughs and rubs his eye, fighting off boredom. “Maybe one of us should sleep with one of the writers and possibly get some decent dialogue?”

“What if they think this is decent dialogue?” She chews her lower lip. “On the plus side, all these changes are coming from the higher ups, you know? Maybe even the network. That’s got to be a good sign, right? They want the show to succeed.”

“So they’re dropping us down to the lowest common denominator.” He sighs, sticking out his lower lip until he can see it in the bottom edge of his vision. “Or lower, in our case.”

“Never doubt the depths of America’s humor. Look at some of the stuff that’s popular right now.” She kicks a pebble near her feet. “You make more money and get more publicity in stupid reality shows than anything actually scripted. And the chance of any scripted show getting the advertising it needs, not to mention the viewers required to stay on the air is entirely dependent on the whims of middle America and whether or not there’s someone famous in the cast.”

“So we’re doomed then.”

“Most likely, yeah.” 

“You’re really a ray of fucking sunshine, aren’t you?” He kicks the pebble back her way. “It’s amazing how you hide such a cheerful and buoyant personality behind all that shining blonde hair and such.” He waves a hand up and down. “No one would suspect it.”

“I’m a study in contradictions.” She laughs and leans back, supporting herself on her hands, palms curved around the edge of the bench they’re sitting on. “Still, stranger things have happened.”

“Los Angeles seems to rather specialize in strange things.” He wrinkles his nose and copies her posture. “Do you go out much?”

“Not really. More of a homebody. Though there are some good places around that I’ve been to.” She stares out at the director, watching him gesture frantically at some of the sound people before suddenly turning her head. “Oh, God. Are you asking me out?”

“What? Fuck. No.” Matthew holds up his hands and nearly falls backwards, his stomach hurting as he wrenches himself upright before he tumbles to the fake grass. “No. God. I mean, not that you’re not…” He rushes to fill in the silence as her face contorts with a series of emotions. She’s really a very good actress. “I mean, you’re absolutely lovely, but I don’t…I’m not…”

“Because I don’t date co-stars.”

“No. Of course not. Me either. I mean, I don’t. I haven’t. There was that thing with Sophia, but it wasn’t…I mean, she was involved, so it was really just hanging out. I wasn’t…I don’t…Well, shit.” He clears his throat and then swallows. “I mean, I’m not…you’re quite lovely, as I said. But I don’t…I’m not. Asking you out.”

“You’re sure?” She almost laughs and Matthew manages to get another breath down into his lungs. 

“Yes. Quite sure. Quite. Yes. Sure. Certain. Absolutely certain.”

Her eyebrow goes up dangerously and she straightens up, leaning in toward him. “You know Shakespeare, right?”

“Well, yes.” He probably only imagines he doesn’t sound offended. “I am British.”

“So, you’d know what I meant if I said ‘methinks the lady doth protest too much’?”

“Well, first off, I’d think you were obviously a little confused about what gender I am, and given I’m to play the male lead in our show, this could explain the issues we’ve been having with chemistry.” He sighs, blowing out the breath slowly. “Secondly, I’m not protesting really. I mean, I am, but it’s more that I’d really rather you didn’t sue me for sexual harassment or have some very large man come along and beat me to a pulp.”

“Maybe I’d be flattered.”

“Except you don’t date co-stars.”

“There is that.” She leans over and bumps her shoulder against his. “Besides, our saving grace in this might be our sexual attraction, and if we actually have sex, we’ll lose it like Cybil Shepherd and Bruce Willis on ‘Moonlighting’.”

“I think they actually hated each other, and the sex was all just on-screen.” He shrugs. “Thought I don’t want you to think I’m a proponent of you hating me.”

“You seem a little too adorable to hate.”

“Adorable?” He cringes. “God, you really do hate me, don’t you?”

She laughs as a whistle blows in the distance. “I don’t hate you. But I’m still not going to sleep with you.”

“What if the show folds?”

“Then I’ll blame you.”

“Right.” He nods decisively and stands up. He feels better now, more relaxed, more himself. He offers her his arm and a smile. “Let’s try not to suck then.”

**

The show doesn't live up to that, of course. It continues to suck monumentally, a habit that he bemoans to Ioan on a regular basis over beers in front of the telly. Ioan laughs at him sometimes and other times he just reminds him that that's rather what the world of acting is like. Matthew frowns a lot during the conversations, and Ioan rubs his thigh gently to soothe him. It's an old habit that they've each been on both sides of, and right now, Matthew's willing to take all the petting Ioan can manage.

"I actually had to say, 'is that a gun in your pocket?' Who actually thinks that's funny?"

"The American public?"

"Are they really that daft?" His voice is incredulous and he shakes his head, bumping off Ioan's hand for a moment before it settles back on the top of his hair. "Wait, don't answer that. I don't really want to know. Let me live in my sweet world of delusion."

"It's better than doing nothing, right? I mean, having a show means a foot in the door."

"I really should have joined the Army."

"That would have been a waste and you know it. Besides, you hate getting up early." Ioan reaches over Matthew to the coffee table and grabs his beer, taking a long pull. "Now, sit up like a proper boy and we'll practice your lines."

"You don't believe it's as awful as I say, do you?"

"Nothing can be as awful as you say, Matthew."

"Ha." Matthew sits up and grabs his script out of his bag, flipping through to the pages he has to memorize. "You start. Be Carlotta."

"Her name is Carlotta?"

"See?" Matthew takes a drink of his beer, triumphant. "It's all becoming clear now, isn't it? It's just...It gets worse. Go on. Say her line."

Ioan reads the script. "I can't say that."

"It's classic television, Ioan. Say her line." 

"People don't talk like that."

"Ah, but we're not people. We're actors. Besides, that's an awful argument. People don't talk like they do in Shakespeare's plays, do they?"

"Well, no. But they used to. Even the most undereducated, completely inbred idiot doesn't talk like this."

"Remember," Matthew snags the script away. "We're not allowed to talk about Prince Charles that way."

"Very funny. Though...well, yes, even he talks a bit more educated that this. Is this slang?"

"Apparently, this is the way the common folk talk, and we have to get down to their level. We need to communicate with them."

"You're in a drama about a police detective who hit his head so hard that he's under the impression that he speaks with an accent."

"Really, it's more of a comedy, isn't it?"

"Yes, actually." Ioan makes a face and grabs the script back, setting it on the table and placing his beer very carefully on top of it, leaving a ring on the top page. "This is shit, Matthew."

"You know it. I know it. My co-star knows it. The only people who don't are the network, the writers, the director and the creator. And since they're willing to pay me and you're not, I pretend that it is not shit, so much as the best shit I've ever seen."

"You're a braver man than I."

"Smarter too."

Ioan glances at him quickly, holding back a snort of laughter. Matthew manages to keep a straight face, up until Ioan grabs the throw pillow and smacks Matthew in the head with it. 

"Hey now!"

"Deserve every blow, Math." Ioan hits him again, gasping when Matthew grabs the pillow behind him and starts hitting back. They miss half the time, too busy trying to keep from falling off the sofa with laughter. "God, you're such a wanker."

"You adore me." Matthew grabs Ioan's pillow and shoves it behind him, leaning back on his own as well. "How come you're hanging out here with me instead of with your girlfriend?"

"She has a job tonight."

"She's a hooker?"

Ioan punches him this time, hard in the arm. "You're a fucker."

"You're the one..."

"She's a model, so sometimes she works nights. Parties. Shows. Those sorts of things." Ioan rubs his foot against the edge of the coffee table, and his beer tips and pours all over Matthew's script. "Hmmm. Whoops."

"Ioan, I have to use that tomorrow. They're going to think I'm a lush."

"Might actually help you act in this thing if you were intoxicated." They watch the beer spill out over the pages, spreading out and turning the green a darker, more virulent color. "Couldn't get worse. Besides, they're just as likely to change everything again like they've done every day so far. Maybe tomorrow will be orange."

"My luck, they won't change the script tomorrow, and I'll be stuck with a sodden, foul-smelling, falling-apart hunk of saturated paper."

"If it soaks through, maybe you can't read it, or maybe some of the words will blend together and actually form something resembling natural human dialogue."

"Or maybe they'll fire me for being a drunk."

"You say that like you actually think it's a bad thing." Ioan shifts and leans his head on Matthew's shoulder. "You're better than this, Math."

"But it's work, Ioan. Trust me, it's not the worst I've done. Probably not the worst I'll do."

"Oh, it has to be the worst. I'm horrified if there's something more horrible out there in the world. I see no reason to go on if this is not the epitome of wretchedness."

Matthew reaches a hand up and pets Ioan's dark hair, feeling the softness as it threads through his fingers. "I need the job, mate."

"Does it have to be this one? You're..."

"You were a lawyer in the future. You don't get to make career judgments for me, you know." Matthew smiles, brushing his lips over Ioan's temple. "In fact, I think 'Century City' might actually be worse than this."

"It's quite possible you're right." Ioan laughs and looks up at him, kissing the tip of Matthew's nose. "But at least our concept was interesting." He yawns and pulls away from Matthew. "Going to bed. I'll see you tomorrow."

"You had something else going for you, you know. In the lawyer show."

"What's that?"

"You look lovely in suits."

"Even with the pink tie?"

Matthew nods as Ioan gets up, yawning as he makes for the bedroom. Matthew's voice is soft. "Yeah, mate. Especially with the pink tie."

**

Matthew's on the back steps drinking his way through a fifth of scotch and smoking the third in a new pack of cigarettes when Ioan steps out the door and settles next to him. "Hey ya."

"Hey." He takes a long drag and holds the smoke in his lungs before slowly letting it hiss out from between his lips. "Drink?"

"No."

"They axed us today. Didn't even finish filming. Just came back from a break and the director was gone, they were starting to put things away and..." He shrugs and sips from his glass, looking down at the bottle between his feet. "So, you know. I'm looking on the bright side."

Ioan stares out at what passes for his back yard, his voice soft as though he’s feeling Matthew out. "Does the bright side include the fact that you don't have to get up in the morning, so you can drink and smoke as much as you like?"

Matthew gives Ioan a sideways look and then nods his head a little in acquiescence. He feels he should be more broken up about this, but he can’t quite seem to manage it. That might have something to do with how much he’s had to drink. "Something like that. Later it will most likely involve the fact that I'm saved from having a piece of pure and utter crap on my resume, and that I don't ever have to have strangers come up to me on the street and quote lines of wretched dialogue at me."

"I do love that you're drunk enough to think you're Sir Alec Guinness again," Ioan laughs, but it’s not the same teasing tone Matthew’s expects from him. That also might be the alcohol, or Ioan just being unsure how Matthew’s actually taking things.

Mixed messages, Matthew thinks. It’s beginning to be a theme.

He shakes his head and clears his throat, his voice a perfect echo of one of their professors at RADA, Mr. Blomherd or, as they dubbed him, Mr. Blowhard. "Star Wars is a great and epic story and he should be honored to be identified with Obi-Wan, the greatest self-sacrificing martyr of them all." Matthew holds his drink out toward Ioan to make his point, smoke drifting in the air between them. "I could be Obi-Wan."

"Possibly,” Ioan agrees, barely managing a straight face. “You very well could be a number of things, but the one you are is drunk." 

"And your point?" Matthew’s voice hardens, a flare of anger and disappointment and failure making it difficult to breathe until he shoves it down. He takes another drink and then another hit from the cigarette, nearly spilling his scotch on his lap at the same time. "Fuck."

"Yes, when you get to the point of spilling booze..."

"You spilled beer last night."

"That was a sacrifice to rid you of that horrible script,” Ioan sounds righteous, and it’s a perfect fit for him. Bloody ridiculous lad that he is, all legs and arms and eyes. Matthew pictures him in his Hornblower uniform and straightens up. “After I shut the bedroom door, I also did a dance and cut the head off a chicken. Really, the lengths I go to for you, and this is the appreciation I get. You, drinking my good scotch, and nearly pouring three fingers of it on your lap. Wasteful, Matthew. And ungrateful."

"What'd you want instead?” Matthew tries to match him in tone, probably only achieving a bit whiny as opposed to appreciative. “My eternal gratitude?"

"It'll do for a start." Ioan snags the glass from Matthew's hand. "C'mon. I'll put you to bed and you can sleep off the half bottle you now owe me."

"And what are you going to do?" Matthew watches him as Ioan gives him a hand up to his feet. He sways in slightly, feeling the heat of Ioan’s body as he gets too close. It takes an effort to pull back and stand upright, suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of lying next to Ioan again, falling asleep together.

"I am going to go out and have a lovely dinner, and I'll see you when I get home."

"Which will be tomorrow morning?" Matthew slurs his words slightly, leaning into Ioan again. "Going to have a proper night with your lady?"

"We'll see." Ioan wraps his arm around Matthew’s shoulders, holding him close. "C'mon. Bed."

"Don’t suppose you happened to sacrifice a chicken for money to pay my rent?"

"No." Ioan guides him into the kitchen, dropping the cigarettes on the table as he sets the bottle down. "But things can be arranged."

Matthew nods, following obediently as Ioan leads him into the living room. He lies down and watches as Ioan gathers his wallet and his coat, tossing Matthew a quick smile as he heads out. “Sleep well.”

“Yeah. Have fun.” Ioan leaves and Matthew sighs softly, waiting until he hears the front door shut to close his eyes and slump back against the pillows. “Don’t go.”

**

When Matthew wakes up, the sun is streaming in through the window blinds and giving the room a sort of hot golden glow. He can’t see the clock from where he’s lying on the couch, so he starts to sit up, regretting the decision immediately. He manages to glance at the time, and from the position of the sun, he’s fairly certain it’s now three in the afternoon rather than in the morning. The TV’s off, which means either he was very energy-conscious while passed out or that Ioan’s home. 

Matthew slumps further on the couch, pillow over his face. Ioan comes out of the bedroom and sits by his feet, fingers light on Matthew’s ankle. “Okay?”

“No.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay.” Ioan stops talking though his hand stays on Matthew’s ankle, a comforting weight as his thumb rubs slowly over the bone. Matthew can feel the couch shift as Ioan leans back, and he knows if he peeks out, Ioan’s face will be turned toward him, his dark eyes filled with worry. He smiles beneath the pillow as Ioan shifts again, lifting Matthew’s legs and resting them on his lap. “It could be worse you know.”

“How does this count as not talking about it?”

“I asked if you wanted to talk,” Ioan informs him. “You said no. So you’re not talking. I am.”

“Sometimes your logic frightens me.”

“I get that a lot.” Ioan slides his hand up Matthew’s leg, palm against the calf, fingers ghosting over his shin. “Really though, it could be worse.”

Matthew raises the pillow just enough to give Ioan a look. Ioan just holds his gaze, a hint of a smile quirking at the corners of his mouth. Heaving a sigh, Matthew lifts himself up on his elbows, letting the pillow fall behind his head. “Well, don’t stop now. Pray, tell me how it could be worse.”

“Well, first of all, you could be stuck without any place to live.”

Matthew laughs softly. “I’ll take that to mean you’re not kicking me out on my arse then.”

“Not today anyway.”

“A relief that, I assure you.”

Ioan grins and rubs a finger over Matthew’s toes, laughing softly as Matthew reflexively curls them under out of reach. “Sorry.”

“No you’re not, you lying wanker.”

“Mmm.” Ioan moves his finger, running it along the top of Matthew’s foot. 

“Quit it. You know I hate that.”

“Always self-conscious about your feet.” Ioan doesn’t stop stroking the bridge of his foot lightly. “You know it’s a good thing, right? The show being axed. You do.”

“Yeah.” Matthew sighs and watches Ioan thoughtfully. His head doesn’t hurt as much as he’s certain it should, so it’s quite possible Ioan got some aspirin down him before he dumped him on the sofa. “Still, was my first real US TV show, you know? Wanted to be a success.”

“Matthew.” Ioan shakes his head sternly, his brow furrowing. “You are a success. Look at all the things you’ve done. You’re so talented. You’re…you’re good at what you do, Matthew. And you’ll find something that highlights that talent, rather than dump garbage all over it.”

“You’re being my number one fan again.” Matthew uses his toes to poke Ioan in the stomach. “Surprised you’re home.”

“At three in the afternoon?”

“I thought you’d be glad of the night without me and stay with the girlfriend for an extra bit of time.”

“Ah. That.” Ioan nods and rubs his thumb against Matthew’s arch. “We broke up.”

“You did? Why?” Matthew pulls his feet free of Ioan’s grasp and sits up properly, tilting his head. Ioan’s mouth quirks into a half-smile and he shrugs. Matthew growls softly and pokes him harder, this time with his finger in Ioan’s ribs. “Come on. She seemed nice.”

“She was. Quite nice.”

“And very pretty.”

“Exceptionally pretty.”

“A bit dense, as she was dating you.” Ioan smiles and ducks his head, a blush seeping up his collar. His pale skin tints pink and Matthew raises his hand and brushes Ioan’s cheek. “Come on. Out with it.”

“She was all those things. But it just wasn’t right. I mean, it was fun, but…” He folds his feet under him on the couch, his impossibly long legs tucked up beneath him. “I think maybe I want more than fun.”

“And she didn’t?”

“I don’t know.” Ioan turns his head and looks at Matthew, his dark eyes unreadable. “I didn’t ask.”

“But if you wanted more…” Matthew exhales softly, relief he doesn’t quite understand – doesn’t want to understand – flooding through him. “Oh. Right. Not with her.”

“No.” Ioan huffs out a laugh. “But there’s not exactly anyone else, is there? I mean, don’t get me wrong, I date and I see people, but no one seems…”

“Yeah.” Matthew nods. “I know.” He rests his own head on the back of the sofa. “You like it out here, don’t you?”

“What? Oh, yes. Love it.” Ioan blushes a little more. “I mean, I love home and I love London, but America is just…there’s so much, you know? Land of opportunity, and it’s true. I mean, look at what I have, what I can have.”

“Everything you ever wanted.”

“Not everything.” Ioan closes his eyes for a long moment, his head back against the couch. Matthew watches him carefully, dropping his hand down to Ioan’s shoulder, letting his fingers skim down Ioan’s arm to his hand, threading their fingers together. “I miss you, Math. So bloody much.”

“I know. Me too.”

Ioan rubs his forehead with his other hand, the heel of his hand rough and loud. “I wanted that stupid fucking show to be everything you wanted so you’d be here, so I’d have my best friend back, and instead it was horrid and you’re going to leave again and what am I supposed to do then? How am I supposed to get used to being without you again?”

“I know.” Matthew’s vision blurs and he closes his eyes, feeling the heat sting. His voice is rough and he has to clear his throat to speak again. “I feel the same way.”

“So fucking stupid.” Ioan sniffs and then rubs his eyes with his fists like a child. Matthew hates that Ioan takes his hand away to do it, but he releases him and uses the moment to move closer. He wraps an arm around Ioan’s shoulder and pulls him against him, letting him bury his face against Matthew’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s not just you, boyo.” Matthew kisses the top of Ioan’s head. “I don’t want to go. Being here, being with you is like…it’s right. It’s what it’s supposed to be like. London’s not the same without you. It’s all off. It’s like it’s on a tilt, axis thrown off by you being halfway round the world.”

“Stay here, Matthew.”

He shakes his head, swallowing hard. “You know I can’t do that.” His hand slides around Ioan’s back, holding him closer. He can’t seem to get his voice above a whisper. “Come home.”

Ioan pulls away, looking up at him. They’re still closer than they should be, though Matthew’s certain it’s not nearly close enough. “And you know I can’t do that.”

Matthew nods and bites his lower lip, closing his eyes as he exhales slowly. “I do know.” They sit there like that for a long time, simply breathing each other in. “So what do we do now?”

“You could introduce me to your co-star. Just because she wasn’t interested in you doesn’t mean she won’t find me devastatingly attractive.” 

Matthew laughs. “God, you’re incorri-” He’s cut off by Ioan’s mouth, the warm caress of his lips as they settle over Matthew’s, moving against them until Matthew relaxes into him, parting his lips to the brush of Ioan’s tongue.

Ioan groans softly as Matthew's mouth opens to his, pushing his tongue deeper. Matthew curls his own tongue around it, sucking gently until Ioan moves closer, his hands catching on Matthew's shoulders and tightening there. It's surreal in some ways, to feel this right when Matthew knows perfectly well that doing this is wrong, especially when he's going to be leaving again in just a couple of days, a week at the most. He can't help it though, can't help fitting his mouth so smoothly to Ioan's, so perfectly and deepen the kiss even more.

They tangle together easily, many nights of lying in one bed or the other, talking until all hours of the morning, insisting that there should be no smoking as either one of them is liable to doze off. But for all that this is the same, it's different, and Matthew knows it. He knows that this isn't something innocent or just a friendly touch to pass the time, to make it through the night. This is something more, something bigger, and it's frightening in its own way. 

Ioan breaks the kiss and pulls back, looking at Matthew with his huge brown eyes, the dark lashes almost invisible they're open so wide. Matthew swallows and licks his lips, his eyes avoiding Ioan's, darting down to his lips, wet and pink and swollen from the kiss. "It's...it's different, isn't it?"

Matthew nods and leans in, kissing him again. Ioan doesn't resist, but he doesn't really participate either, so Matthew settles back. His heart is pounding in his chest, too loud for him to hear properly. He tilts his head, not meaning to, but questioning because if this isn't what Ioan wants, if he didn't mean to start this whatever it is, then Matthew needs to know now. It's possible that Ioan just wanted an innocent kiss, a snog to ease the pain of being alone again. "Io?"

"Nothing, Math." His voice is hushed and almost reverent. "It's nothing."

"Is it really?" He's surprised that it hurts as much as it does. He hadn't realized how much it might matter. Maybe that's the problem. "Nothing, that is?"

"What?" Ioan's eyes widen impossible further. "Oh, no, Math. God." Ioan laughs and it's a strangled, desperate sound. "This isn't nothing. Just...whatever was in my head. I...you feel it too, right?"

Matthew nods. They're good at not needing words, or not needing a lot of them. "Yeah."

"What is it?"

"Dunno. Us, maybe." He leans in and kisses him again, slowly this time. Ioan whispers a soft 'yes' against Matthew's mouth and then he's in the kiss and they're back on the same wavelength. Matthew gives and Ioan takes and then it all turns around again until Matthew's leaning back on the couch and Ioan's over him, bracing himself on the cushion on either side of Matthew's head, kissing him, thrusting his tongue into Matthew's mouth slowly and sinuously until Matthew can't help but groan.

He rakes his fingers down Ioan's back, wanting him closer. Ioan shudders and thrusts against him and Matthew's shocked by the sudden realization that Ioan's hard against him, his prick pressing against Matthew's thigh. He's not sure why it's such a surprise. His own prick is hard, insistent as he grinds up against Ioan, but for some reason, the thought of Ioan being the same way startles him. 

"God, Math." Ioan breaks from Matthew's mouth and rains a bevy of kisses on his face, teeth and lips teasing at Matthew's skin. He sucks at Matthew's jaw and nips at his earlobe, sucking on it when Matthew growls at the sharp pain. "Been so long."

"You've had a girlfriend." Matthew's voice is soft, teasing, though Ioan pulls back as if he's been stung. 

"I meant with you." 

Matthew reaches up, tracing Ioan's brow with his thumb. He shakes his head. "I wasn't trying to make you feel bad, Ioan. I'm sorry."

"What then?" He shifts back off Matthew and Matthew wants to slam his head against the arm of the sofa. 

"I just meant...you...I thought you were talking about sex."

"I was talking about sex."

"In general. And, you know, until last night you had a girlfriend, and from the nakedness I experienced in the kitchen, I figured there had been sex. So when you said...I just...fuck." He does then, slamming his head hard against the arm, against the wood frame so that it hurts. "I was teasing."

"It's not like you've been celibate."

"How do you know?" Matthew sits up and looks at him. "Maybe I have. Maybe I've spent the last two years that you've been in Hollywood at home, wanking off, wishing you hadn't gone."

Ioan's mouth hangs open for a moment before he seems to realize and he snaps it shut. It works that way for a few more minutes, opening and shutting until he manages to find his voice. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Been...doing that."

"Wanking? Of course I wank. I'm a bloody guy."

Ioan kicks him hard in the shin. "You know what I fucking mean, Matthew Rhys Evans, so don't be a monumental prick or I'll take back what I said earlier and kick your arse out on the street."

"No." Matthew shakes his head. "Of course not, Ioan. We're friends first, right? And you had this amazing opportunity and you took it and I wanted you to take it, and of course I'm jealous from time to time, because I want the same amazing opportunities, but I'd never wish you not to have it. You joke that you're my biggest fan-"

"I am."

"Well, I'm yours as well." He blows out another breath and rubs the back of his head where it stings from hitting it on the couch. "So...I'm not going to try to make you feel bad about that, and certainly not with sex."

"So why did you say it?"

"I was trying to be funny. And I failed spectacularly, which is why I tried out for dramas instead of comedies, not that that worked out, and for Christ sake, can I kiss you again, please?"

"No."

"Fine." Matthew puts his hand on the sofa arm to lever himself to his feet, but Ioan's there, holding him down. 

"Because I'm going to kiss you."

It starts out slow again, and Ioan doesn't push it. Matthew lets him guide it, lets him lead them wherever Ioan needs to go. It doesn't take long before Ioan's tongue brushes at Matthew's lips, until they're kissing again in earnest, back where they started before Matthew had made the mistake of talking. 

This time though, there are hands. Ioan's hands on Matthew's arms and back and Matthew's settled at Ioan's hips, thumbs rubbing his lower stomach. Ioan's fingers are long and firm, stroking easy rows up and down Matthew's spine, over his shoulders and he can't help the soft noises he keeps making, muttering and moaning them into Ioan's mouth. 

Ioan's just as vocal, low desperation in his voice as he matches Matthew sound for sound. They shift on the sofa, trying to find the right match for their bodies, the alignment that allows them to touch and feel. Ioan whimpers finally, pulling away and breathing hard. "This is miserable."

"Now who's being insulting?" Matthew's mouth aches for Ioan's, and his hands slide up Ioan's back, trying to urge him in again.

"No. This couch. How the hell did you sleep on it?"

"Who gives a fuck, Ioan?" He tugs him closer again, angling up for a kiss. Ioan melts against him for a moment and then pulls back yet again. "What the actual fuck?"

"It's bloody fucking uncomfortable." Ioan gets off the couch and Matthew just looks at him, dumbfounded. Ioan's obviously enjoying himself, his cock is hard and tight against his jeans and he's unsteady when he stands. "Let's go to bed."

"Oh. Oh." Matthew scrambles off the couch and to his feet, meeting Ioan's mouth in a kiss as he stands as well. Ioan laughs against Matthew's lips and pulls away, catching his hand and leading him down the hallway to the bedroom. The room is dark, the curtains drawn, but Ioan's disturbingly fastidious about wherever he's sleeping, so it's easy to navigate the way to the bed. 

Ioan stops at the edge of it and looks at Matthew. Matthew’s eyes have adjusted enough that he can see Ioan, can see the brightness and want in his eyes as he reaches down and grabs the hem of his t-shirt, tugging it over his head. Matthew makes a noise low in his throat and reaches out, fingers splaying over Ioan's chest and sliding down to his stomach, feeling the brush of hair against his palms. Ioan arches like a cat into Matthew's hands, and Matthew bends his head, flicking his tongue lightly over one of Ioan's nipples.

"Oh, fuck." Ioan's entire body shudders in response, so Matthew does it again. This time Ioan's hands dig into Matthew's hair, holding Matthew's head against his body. Matthew catches the nipple between his teeth and sucks on it, flicking it occasionally with just the tip of his tongue, reveling in the sharp intake of Ioan's breath, in the tremors that run through him. "Don't stop." Ioan's not quite begging, but he's definitely wanting, and Matthew's content with that, teasing the nipple for just a bit longer before turning his attention to the other one, watching from the corner of his eye as cool air touches the wet nipple he just left, tightening it further. 

Matthew's hands slide from Ioan's hips to the small of his back, rubbing small circles there as he teases Ioan's nipples, moving from one to the other until Ioan's body quivers even without Matthew's mouth on him. Looking up, Matthew meets Ioan's eyes, pupils blow wide with want, and holds them as he sinks down on his knees, peppering kisses down Ioan's sternum, across his stomach. He dips his tongue in Ioan's navel and Ioan's cock gives a hard jerk in his jeans. Matthew doesn't touch it, moving his hands up instead, sweeping the line of Ioan's back as he nuzzles at the trembling muscles of Ioan's abdomen.

"Matthew. Please." Ioan's voice is strangled, and his hands trace over the lines of Matthew's cheeks before they slip to the fastening of Ioan's jeans. "Please. Fuck. Hurts."

"Don't ever want to hurt you, Io." Matthew moves Ioan's hands away and grabs the denim with his own fingers, working the button loose and carefully sliding the zipper down. Ioan groans in relief and shivers all at once. His cock is tight against his briefs, a wet spot staining the grey cotton. "Better?"

"Getting there," Ioan laughs, the sound off a bit as Matthew's fingers trace over his hard prick. "Closer still if you keep that up."

Matthew huffs a laugh, the air feathering over the bulge of Ioan's cock. Ioan moans softly and his hips thrust forward, seeking out the heat of Matthew's mouth. Matthew keeps his eyes on Ioan's face, watching the play of emotions, the easy way that everything shows in his eyes, in his expression. Ioan looks down at Matthew, lips parted and eyes still so wide, so trusting. "Ioan," Matthew manages roughly as he tugs Ioan's briefs over the head of his prick and pushes them down along with his jeans.

Ioan groans in relief again, and Matthew wraps his hand around the hard flesh of Ioan's dick. It's thick and hard, long and smooth. He traces the crown of the prick at the opening of the foreskin, listening to Ioan's ragged breathing when his finger slides across the wet slit. Pushing the foreskin back, he breathes against the sleek head then presses his tongue to the wetness, closing his eyes and holding the taste in his mouth.

"O-oh," Ioan breathes roughly, his hand finding the curve of Matthew's skull again. His fingers fight the wild curl of Matthew's hair as Matthew's tongue presses against the ridge at the base of the head, tracing the circumference of Ioan's dick slowly. He can see muscles trembling beneath Ioan's skin and he lets one hand stroke up and down Ioan's thigh. Ioan makes a noise low in his throat and thrusts forward. Matthew's not certain, but it's possibly please and so he parts his lips and takes Ioan into his mouth.

Ioan tastes like soap and salt and sweat, and Matthew tightens his mouth around him, letting Ioan weigh on his tongue. He can feel the hard, throbbing pulse of Ioan's blood, can feel the restraint as Ioan holds himself back, holds himself still so that he doesn't thrust too deeply. Matthew sucks hard and grabs Ioan's hips, taking him deep enough that he can feel the rough wiry hair against his face, can feel the weight of Ioan's balls against his chin.

Ioan's hands tighten and he starts thrusting, matching the steady rhythm of Matthew's mouth. They move together easily, Matthew's tongue pressing Ioan's prick against the roof of his mouth, sucking on it until Ioan shivers, unable to move and desperate to do so. When Matthew eases the pressure, Ioan's nails dig into Matthew's scalp and his hips start moving more determined, more regularly, pushing into Matthew's mouth. Matthew groans around him, easing his own movement so that Ioan is controlling it, feeling the tang of Ioan's pre-come hitting the back of his throat. 

"Ma-Math." Ioan shudders and it's all the warning Matthew gets, feeling the pulse of Ioan's orgasm against his tongue in the second before he's swallowing him down. He keeps going until Ioan's shuddering and begging him to stop, breath ratcheting out of him like he's losing control all over again. Matthew eases back and wipes his mouth, spit and semen wetting his swollen lips. Ioan sinks onto the bed and looks down at him, slightly dazed. "You."

"Yeah?" Matthew licks his lips and Ioan tugs him up higher so that their lips meet again. Matthew's mouth is stretched and stiff, unused to the prolonged activity of a blow job, to Ioan's tongue fucking his mouth and tasting himself on Matthew's tongue is almost painful, but in all the best ways. He reaches down and undoes his own jeans, needing them off quickly. He's just as hard as Ioan had been, the pain blocked out by the rush of pleasure from sucking Ioan down, but now his whole body is alive with need and waiting seems impossible. 

Ioan breaks the kiss to breathe and slides back onto the bed, sprawled there like some sort of sacrifice. Matthew's more than happy to worship at the altar, shrugging out of all of his clothes before kneeling on the bed and crawling up Ioan's body. Ioan's fingers skim over Matthew's flesh as he makes his way up, tracing the curve of his back and the slope of his arse. "Want you, Math."

Matthew nods. He glances at the nightstand and Ioan nods, so Matthew tugs out the drawer and fumbles around for the supplies. There are condoms readily at the front, but the lube is in the back. He manages to wrap his hand around it, using his thumb to open the lid. "Nearly full."

"Don't have need for it when you're in London." Ioan shifts, spreading his legs farther apart, opening himself up for Matthew. Matthew works the condom on, stroking himself and gritting his teeth at the sensation. The lube is cool in his hand as he strokes himself, adding more before he presses a finger against Ioan's opening. Ioan shudders and the world narrows down to the sudden pressure of Ioan's body around him as Matthew pushes the finger in slowly. 

"Fuck," Matthew breathes, resting his head on Ioan's thigh as he works it deeper. Ioan's mouth is open but no sound comes out, and his chest doesn't seem to move at all until he sucks in a huge gasp of air. Matthew feels him relax eventually, and that's when he starts moving, working his finger in and out until Ioan's begging for more. More lube and another finger and he can press them deep, scissor them open until Ioan' s heels are planted on the bed and he's arched off the mattress. "God, you're so fucking..."

"Want you, Math." Ioan's panting and Matthew pushes his fingers deeper in response. "Fuck, want you. Please. Inside me." He's just got the two fingers in and he's not sure it will be enough, but he's equally sure he can't wait. It's been so long, been too long, and so he shifts between Ioan's legs and uses both hands to hold Ioan's thighs as he presses the tip of his prick against Ioan's opening.

Matthew holds there for a moment, waiting until Ioan's eyes open and they're looking at each other. There's a hint of a smile, of something, on Ioan's lips and Matthew returns it with one of is own before he pushes in slowly, taking his time as Ioan opens up around him with each shallow thrust.

Ioan's tight - so tight - and Matthew's lost before he even manages to get completely inside him. He's shaking, arms trembling on either side of Ioan's face and his thrusts are erratic. Ioan's cradling him between his thighs and Matthew drops down to his elbows, wrapping himself around Ioan as he drives deeper inside him. Ioan's breath is hot against his ear and it sends shivers down Matthew's spine. 

He can feel the heat gathering in his balls and he tries to hold back, tries to keep from giving in, but Ioan's body constricts around him and Matthew comes, cock pulsing as Ioan's body tightens around him, Ioan's legs wrapping around Matthew's calves and drawing him deeper. Matthew doesn't move for several minutes, isn't actually sure he can. He just lays there, forehead against Ioan's and his hands stroking through Ioan's unruly hair, rubbing and teasing sweat-damp tendrils apart. 

"I need to move," he whispers. 

"Don't."

Matthew laughs and he can feel his body shifting. "I can't, actually. No muscle response. I'm afraid we're stuck like this until some feeling comes back into my limbs or my brain synapses start firing again."

"Move or you'll make a mess, which you'll clean up." Ioan belies his statement by drawing Matthew in for a warm kiss. "I'm not sleeping in the wet spot."

"Could go sleep on the couch." Matthew pulls away reluctantly, easing out of Ioan with a great degree of care. It doesn't stop Ioan from gasping, pain and pleasure mixed, but he does his best all the same. 

"Why didn't you tell me the couch was so bloody uncomfortable?" Ioan turns his head, watching Matthew walk naked across the room to the bath to dispose of the condom. "Might have gotten you a blow up bed or something."

"I don't trust you around anything inflatable."

"One time," Ioan moans and covers his face with his hands, glaring at Matthew from between his fingers. "One time, and you won't let me live it down."

"One time. In front of 50 witnesses." Matthew comes back to the bed and stretches out, head propped on his hand and elbow just below the pillow where Ioan's head is resting. "There's no way that can ever be forgotten. In fact, I think there's a video tape of it floating around somewhere."

"I hate you."

Matthew shakes his head and leans in, kissing Ioan softly. "No. You don't."

"No. I don't." Ioan makes a face at him then moves closer, turning his face to kiss the inside of Matthew's elbow. "But I could."

"No, you couldn't."

"Yes, I could."

"No. You really couldn't, Ioan." Matthew drops his head down and kisses Ioan's forehead. "You might try, but you would fail miserably, so there's really no reason to set yourself up for that kind of heartbreak."

"You're a wanker."

"Yes. But at least I'm your wanker, right?"

Ioan smiles and nods before closing his eyes, tugging Matthew closer. "Yes. You are that."

"It's still only four in the afternoon."

Ioan opens one eye. "You saying you couldn't do with a nap then?"

"No," Matthew admits with a smile. "I'm not saying that at all."

**

The weeks go by too quickly after that. Matthew's visa expires quickly when there's no job to keep him there, and it's not long before his bags are packed and he's staring at the living room he used to call home. "So."

"You'll call," Ioan says. "You'll write."

"I'll probably call, but there's no way in hell I'd write. And even if I did, you wouldn't be able to read it, so you'd just call me and bitch about how I need to learn how to write properly and what the fuck did I scribble on about for seven pages."

"Seven, huh?"

"I would not write you seven page letters." 

"You would." Ioan grins triumphantly. "I'll bet you have. Next time I come to London, I'm scouring the flat. Going to find all your deep, hidden secrets, Rhys."

"I don't have any from you." Matthew taps Ioan softly on the tip of his nose. "I've got to catch a plane."

"No.” Ioan’s voice is suddenly thick. “No, don’t go. You could stay and become a waiter or something. Get an extended visa. Go back to school. Learn a trade. Become...hell, become something useful like an architect or...or...a lighting grip. Anything. Just stay."

"I can't stay."

"I don't want you to go."

"That's because you're a sentimental wanker." Matthew moves away from him to grab his bags, needing some distance before he actually gives in to Ioan's requests, cede to his demands. "Do I need to call a cab?"

"No. I'll drive you, though you don't have to seem quite so bloody happy about leaving."

"Says the man who didn't have to sleep on the couch." Matthew tightens his grip on his bag, flexing and unflexing his hand. 

"I had to listen to you snoring."

"I don't snore." Matthew huffs indignantly. "Obviously you're just hearing echoes of your own, lingering in the bedroom after you wake up."

"Stay."

"I can't."

Ioan frowns and nods. "Let me get my keys."

"I want to. You know I want to, right?"

Turning around, Ioan nods. "I do, Math, yeah." 

"You need to know that. Believe it."

"I do."

"Ioan..."

"I do. Jesus, I'm not a mental and emotional cripple, you fucker." He tosses his keys in the air and then catches them. "Christ, it'll be good to be rid of you. Always going on and on about things. Never a moment's pea-"

Matthew grabs him by the shirt and hauls him closer, dropping his suitcase so that he can use both hands to hold Ioan close, to keep him from moving away. The kiss is long and hungry, tinged with regret and promise and tasting very much like things Matthew doesn't know how to say as he pulls away. "Well, come on. I've got a plane to catch."

"Yeah, yeah." Ioan's blushing and smiling as he moves to the door. "Bossy wanker."

**

The flight home is longer than it has any right to be, and Matthew can't manage to sleep more than a few minutes at a time. There aren't the hordes of screaming children from his flight to Los Angeles, and they actually serve him decent booze, though they do charge and arm and a leg for it. It's worth it though to feel the warm rush down his throat, to ease the tightness there that started long before Ioan had even dropped him off.

He watches out the window as England comes into sight, the horizon littered with stately towers and the odd angles of farmland and country, the familiar fog and grey of London becoming larger and larger until all Matthew can see is mist. The roar of the wheels descending and the whine of the brakes as they hit the tarmac seem as unreal as the lights of Hollywood, and he's beginning to wonder if he belongs in either place, if either will ever truly feel like home.

Of course, Los Angeles has the advantage of Ioan, in more ways than one. That thought keeps him smiling the entire cab ride home, even though he knows he has too many phone calls ahead, listening to his family be proud of him no matter what, and what did those daft Americans know anyway. Matthew appreciates the support, but if he's honest, he'd rather just go home and sleep for a day or two before he has to come back to the real world.

He drops his bag by the door and kicks the pile of mail further into the room. The air smells stale and he opens a window to air it out. The blinking red light catches his eye and he frowns. He'd cleared his messages the night before over the phone and everyone knows he was flying today. Probably just his mum telling him to call when he gets in, let her know he's all right. He thinks about avoiding it for a little longer, not wanting her to worry, but not ready to face it all just yet. 

Guilt wins over, of course, as it always does and he pushes the play button and turns away to get himself a drink. He stops at the sound of the voice, closes his eyes and smiles.

"It's almost pilot season," Ioan informs him softly, saying something altogether different. "Come out to LA."


End file.
